by Rima Jean
Davis squatted before me and said, “Handsomely done, lad! Except for the last bit, there.” He flashed me that disarming grin, his cheeks ruddy in the wind.
“How do we get down?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
Davis lifted an eyebrow. “The same way we come up.”
I shut my eyes and whimpered. Davis was going to have a hell of a time prying me off the mast.
I managed to make my way back down to the deck, shaking and covered with a film of cold sweat. I wasn’t sure what had agitated me more, my near-death experience or my encounter with Davis. Not even the laughter and gibes of the crew drew me out of my haze as I mumbled something to Davis and hurried into the cabin where some slave women gathered, cleaning rice. They looked at me curiously as I rushed in, sitting quietly in a corner.
I had to calm down. I sat, trying to breathe evenly, trying to refocus. What was bothering me so much? That I had made an ass of myself? That far from earning the crew’s respect, I had probably earned more of their scorn? I listened to the creaking of the snow, feeling its now-familiar movements. Yes, all those things had bothered me, I suppose. But there was something else, something that overshadowed the rest: my heightened awareness of Howel Davis’ touch, of his presence. Some four weeks had passed since that fateful day England had captured the Cadogan, and with each day I found that my mood improved, my desire to survive in this strange place renewed. This was in spite of the hateful sailors and the terrified slaves. It was in spite of my dire situation, in spite of everything that had happened to me. There was only one reasonable explanation, only one way I could feel so alive when I had so little to live for…
I was falling for Howel Davis.
Chapter Seventeen
What an idiot I was.
I moved about the ship, doing the tasks I was assigned and treating the sick, unscathed by the harsh, vulgar comments made to me or about me by the crew, dusting myself off and going about my business when a surly seaman would trip me purposefully. My eyes followed Davis, watching him as he commanded the Cadogan with complete confidence. I would not be brought down from my high. An entire miserable day was made good when Davis would smile at me, commend my hard work, or simply tease me.
I was not the only person covertly watching Davis. Like the sneaking puppy Davis had said he was, Ned Taylor kept an envious eye on his new captain. I began to watch Taylor almost as closely as I watched Davis, becoming increasingly convinced that he was up to no good. When the men took their meals, Taylor sat alone, quietly, those dark eyes flickering over the men, over the slaves, over me, over Davis, as though he were plotting. Occasionally Blaine would keep him company, and I could have sworn I saw knowing looks pass between them.
Wondering if I was simply being my overly sensitive twenty-first century female self, I said nothing of my suspicions to Davis. And before I knew it, it was too late.
One cloudy afternoon, Davis was issuing some routine orders to several members of the crew, but found that they stood idly by. He repeated his orders, but the crew simply amassed on deck in a crowd, once again disregarding his orders. Davis became livid. “What are you curs about, then? Do you seek a good flogging, the lot of you?” he cried.
Ned Taylor then came forward, saying he had something of “utmost importance” to say. He stood amidst the crew, looking at Davis. “See here, Davies! When we get to Barbados, there’ll be trouble for us. We’ll be charged with mutiny, we will, and we’ll have to prove our innocence. You ain’t concerned about such matters, sayin’ that the pirate lad’ll witness for us.” There was a murmur of disapproval as Taylor pointed at me in disgust, and I stifled the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “I don’t know about the men, but I have no faith in the li’l milksop! ‘Tis a wonder you don’t worry more about the situation.”
The murmuring grew louder, and as Davis opened his mouth to speak, Taylor continued, nearly yelling with urgency, turning now to look at the faces of the crew. “Are you men not concerned at how Davis accepted the pirate’s gift to him? How he runs this ship as though it were a rover? Look, now, how relaxed he is with his discipline, how he lets the slaves wander by their own free will as though they weren’t somebody else’s property! How he portions out items from the cargo itself, as if it were plunder!”
My heart was racing. Davis had been so good to the crew, so fair. Surely they wouldn’t turn against him now? But most of the Cadogan crew had participated in the torturing of Skinner, cheering Jameson on and pelting the captain with glass bottles. Now, their only witness was a boy they’d mercilessly tormented for several weeks, and there was no telling what that “boy” would tell the authorities once in Barbados. No, the situation was not looking good for the men of the Cadogan, and they knew it. Taylor’s meaning had not been missed: accuse Davis of trying to turn pirate, and escape the charges of mutiny that were bound to arise.
Blaine, who’d been standing in the back, spoke, his cheek bulging with tobacco. “I’m with ye, Taylor,” he said, his big, hairy arms crossed on his chest. “I hear’d Davies talking about going on the account a number o’times, I did.”
Davis remained calm, but his voice was low and threatening. “You’re both full of shit, and you know it,” he said.
Taylor ignored him, appealing to the crew. “Who else knows of Davis’ piratical intentions? Surely there are more witnesses.”
I was amazed to watch as one after the other, the men ganged up against Davis – he’d plundered the cargo, had been heard talking about sailing to Port Royal in Jamaica, had been ordered by England to sail to Brazil and sell the booty. As I watched Davis’ face, I began to wonder how many of the stories were true. Surely Davis hadn’t really been thinking about turning pirate? Not that I would blame him: the life of a pirate seemed far better than this. Anything was better than this.
Ned Taylor’s dark eyes looked at Davis, a malicious glint in them. “Clap ‘im in irons!” he cried.
“No!” I yelled involuntarily, jumping up, but I went unnoticed as the shouting men grabbed at Davis. He would not go without a fight: As the crew cornered him, Davis took advantage of his last moments of freedom to slug Ned Taylor in the mouth.
As they took Davis down, Taylor kicked him sharply in the ribs, cursing, “You son of a whore! I’ll bash your pretty face in…” Blaine held Taylor back, muttering something in Taylor’s ear that seemed to calm him.
I panicked as they took Davis down into the hold, looking frantically around for an ally, someone who would stand up for Davis with me. I noticed that the crew had thought ahead, quietly and quickly locking the bigger, more dangerous slaves back up before confronting Davis.
Think, Sabrina, think! All I wanted to do was throw myself at them, insisting that they lock me up with Davis. I was sure they’d be more than happy to oblige. But that wouldn’t help anything.
I had been forgotten for the moment as the crew shackled the remaining slaves and forced them back down into the hold. I stood stock still, wishing I knew what to do. I felt impotent with rage. How dare the crew accuse Davis of piracy when he’d been so good to them? When he’d saved them from the pirates? Davis would never… Or would he?
My mouth fell open. Sky’s book. Why hadn’t I thought to look before? Had I been so caught up in everything that I’d forgotten about it? Davis had been so vehemently opposed to piracy, I’d just assumed my book about pirates had ceased to be of use to me. But if Davis did become a pirate, at least a somewhat successful one, the book might, just might, say something about it…
I wanted to run, but instead walked as inconspicuously as I could back to the cabin where my knapsack lay hidden beneath the bunk. I tore Rovers of the Sea out and flipped to the index: Davis, Howel, first mate of the Cadogan, 225… career as pirate, 352-353…
One page? That’s it? Oh, God. This had been under my nose the whole time and I hadn’t thought to look for it. The process of time travel must have killed a few brain cells. I found myself shaking as I opened the book t
o page 352, afraid of what I would find there. I forced myself to read:
The Cavalier Prince of Pirates… A charming, cunning pirate with a thrilling but brief career, Davis tried to join the pirates after Edward England gave him the Cadogan, but his law-abiding crew refused…
Bullshit, I thought. “Law-abiding crew” my ass. History is kind to those who write it. I continued reading:
He was imprisoned briefly, after which he went to Nassau in the hopes of finding a pirate crew… he was elected captain by the pirates… known for using deception rather than brute force to capture his prizes in the Caribbean and off the West African coast…
I thought my heart would stop beating when I reached the end of page 353:
Davis was ambushed at the island of Principe, where he “died like a game Cock,” shooting two Portuguese as he fell. He was succeeded by Bartholomew Roberts, the most successful Golden Age pirate.
I slowly became aware that tears were streaming heedlessly down my face. I had been alive nearly thirty-two years, and I swear I cried more since arriving in 1718 than I had my whole life. What I wouldn’t give for some good old 2011 anti-depressants. I wiped the tears and snot from my face with my sleeve, angry at myself for letting these men, these pirates, get under my skin. I reminded myself that they’d been dead for a long time, that they were simply following the paths that fate had laid out for them. For some reason, this made little difference in how I felt. England and Davis were alive now, this very moment, and if it is in my power to change their fates, why shouldn’t I try?
I thought about Sophie and Jake. I wondered if it wasn’t better to leave the past untouched, and to just focus on getting back to my family. But hadn’t I already touched the past? Didn’t my very presence in 1718 effect everything anyway?
I squeezed my eyes shut and tilted my head back. God help me, I was helpless in my desire to follow Howel Davis, to try and save him from his premature death. Me, a married woman, a mother, and an attorney, who’d long given up any thoughts of romance and living in the moment and letting my emotions rule me. I should have been ashamed of myself.
But I wasn’t. I carefully hid my knapsack and stood, clearing my throat. I was throwing caution to the wind. My reason for living in 2011 should have been my little girl and my patient, loving husband. My reason for living in 1718 was shackled in the hold of this slave-ship, punished for being a good man in a merciless world.
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
Chapter Eighteen
They would not let me into the hold of the ship. Taylor was fairly clear on the matter, saying, “If you go into the hold, it’ll be as a prisoner, not a sailor, you worthless little shit. I have half a mind to lock you up too, pirate buggerer that you are.”
I was sick of being afraid. I was angry – no, furious – and wanted nothing more than to punch Taylor’s sallow face myself. I retorted, “At least I’m not a sniveling coward.” That earned me a vicious smack to the side of the face, which sent the sailors into uproarious laughter and left me with a bruised cheek.
Without Davis to defend me, the abuse at the hands of the crew got worse. The pranks became increasingly malicious, and I found myself spending much of my time scrubbing the deck quietly, trying my best not to invite harassment. After a week and a black eye, I began to think I’d reached the end of my rope. I feared the worst for Davis – the slaves, although shackled, had been allowed to come on deck for brief periods. They’d been given food and drink to keep them alive. But Davis’ health was of no concern to Ned Taylor and his crew. They granted Davis the very minimum, if anything at all.
Then, one of the guards, a shifty-eyed sailor named Wetherly, agreed to let me into the hold. I had to bribe him, of course. It had been easier than I’d thought. Noticing that he was quite the alcoholic, I agreed to give Wetherly a bottle of port I’d stolen from the captain’s cabin if, in return, he would let me sneak into the hold with food and water for Davis.
The night was pitch black as I crept to the hatch, clutching a bottle of ale, some salt beef and cheese. I saw Wetherly emerge from the hold, looking around nervously. He motioned to me and, as I began to descend, a hand clamped around my arm and spun me around, causing me to drop the items I had been hugging under my jacket. Jack Blaine’s face was dark save his eyes and teeth, which glistened by moonlight menacingly. “Well, well, seems we have a thief in our midst,” he said, and the shadows behind him rose up and rustled and murmured. A lantern was lit, and I saw the crew, their faces accusing as they stood behind Blaine. Ned Taylor stood casually on the quarterdeck, looking triumphant.
They knew of my plan.
Wetherly was grabbed by a couple of the crew and began blubbering, “ ’Twas the lad who thought of it, ‘pon my soul! I’d never meant to – “
“We’ll deal with you in a minute,” Taylor snapped at Wetherly, turning to look fixedly at me, a sinister smile on his face. “I think our little pirate friend needs a good lesson from the cat, what think you, Blaine?”
Blaine laughed. “Aye, Cap’n, I believe he does!” He yanked my jacket from my body as the crew urged him on, some of them scowling, others grinning diabolically. He knocked the hat from my head, causing my hair to slip from the thong that bound it. Black locks of hair whipped about my face as Blaine grabbed my shirt and tore it, pulling it from me. I wrapped my arms around my bare torso and hunched over, trying to hide my tightly bound breasts – to no avail. The crew gasped collectively.
“Bleed me!” Blaine cried, his eyes wide with shock. Taylor stood very still, his pale countenance even paler than usual. For what felt like an eternity, I hugged myself against the lashing of the wind, my face hidden in my hair, listening for someone to break the agonizing silence.
Blaine acted first. He slung my jacket around my shoulders and said to Taylor, “Cap’n, if I may have a word with ye.”
For a second Taylor didn’t move, then he nodded briskly and said, “Bring the woman into my cabin.”
I walked into the cabin behind Taylor, followed by Blaine. I sat on a chair, holding the jacket tightly across my chest and looking boldly into the faces of the two men. Both men had been shocked by the revelation that I was a woman, but Blaine had recovered much quicker than Taylor. Taylor still looked stunned and confused, while Blaine’s eyes had lit up, the wheels turning.
When Taylor didn’t speak, Blaine ventured, “What are ye called, lass?”
I gazed at him warily. I hadn’t thought of a Plan B in case my sex was discovered. Surely there’d be no harm in telling them my name. “Sabrina,” I replied.
“Goddamn me soul!” Blaine whispered, the color draining from his face.
I stared at Blaine, alarmed. Clearly, he’d heard my name before. Taylor looked at Blaine as well and asked, “You know this woman, Blaine?”
Blaine was quick to regain his composure. “Nay, Cap’n. Not at all.”
My eyes were glued to Blaine’s face. How could he have heard about me? From the doctor? But the doctor didn’t know my name. Maybe the doctor heard England call me by name? Even if that were the case, it was obvious that Blaine did not make the connection between the boy Will and the woman Sabrina until just now. But why had Blaine been so shocked? And why was there a hint of fear in his eyes? There was something I was missing, something I wasn’t grasping.
“This… is an interesting development,” Taylor said, approaching me slowly. “What were you doing with the pirates?”
I stammered, “They… rescued me.”
Taylor looked skeptical. “The pirates rescued you?”
“Yes.”
The men exchanged looks. In a voice that was coldly polite, Taylor said, “Pray, indulge us.”
I took a deep breath. “They found me floating in the sea near New Providence. I don’t remember anything prior to that.”
Blaine spoke up. “Why did they give ye away?”
I looked down. “Because I was becoming… a burden.” I added, “England knew someone who wo
uld help me once in Barbados.”
Taylor’s mouth tightened. “You’ve stolen from me,” he said.
I scowled at him. “Howel Davis is the only person on this ship who’s been kind to me. I was trying to return the favor.”
Taylor smiled. “I assure you, had we known you were a woman, we would have been much more… accommodating.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice, and I found myself squirming away from him in my seat. Blaine apparently didn’t like it either, because he said, “If I may, Cap’n, I say we make sure the lass is not dishonored the rest of this voyage. Who knows what sort o’ trouble that would get us in.” There was just a hint of a threat in his words, but neither Taylor nor I missed it.
“Of course,” Taylor replied hastily, wiping his palms on his breeches. I glanced between the men, suddenly understanding the dynamics of their relationship: Taylor feared Blaine, and Blaine used this to his advantage. Jack Blaine was, for all practical purposes, captain of the Cadogan. And for some reason, Blaine was protecting me from Taylor.
I didn’t like this one bit.
“Please,” I said, looking from Blaine to Taylor. “Spare Davis. He’s a good man. He’s…” I stopped, seeing the amusement on Blaine’s face and the spite on Taylor’s.
Blaine grinned, uninspired by my pleas. “The lass fancies that cockerel Davies!”
Taylor’s nostrils flared, his hatred for Davis blazing in his face. “Davis will pay for – “
“For what?” I cried. “For stealing your girl? Or for being better than you – all of you – put together?”
For a split second, I thought Taylor would strike me. Then Blaine stood between us, saying, “Yer anger is misplaced, Cap’n. Mind ye, she’s just a woman.”
Just a woman.
As Blaine led me out of the cabin, I shuddered. Oh, God… Had I made things worse for Davis? Why hadn’t I just kept my pie-hole shut?
